


Growth: The Officer and the Oracle (A Post-Canon/Fix-It Fic)

by terraaurea (realizingtheobvious)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Langst, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Pidgeance, Pining Lance (Voltron), Pining Pidge | Katie Holt, flirtyrobot, past allurance, pidgance, plance, plangst, vld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realizingtheobvious/pseuds/terraaurea
Summary: A message revealing details of Allura's intergalactic ascension reaches Lance on the night that the Lions depart from Earth, but her new role is not the only thing he learns about after he becomes the Guardian's oracle. Without Voltron he finds himself back at the Galaxy Garrison. But, will he pass the qualification exams and become an instructor? It seems like the only one who doubts him is himself. His friends' support and happiness matters the most to him, so he must bear many secrets alone, though hopefully not for forever. How will his connection to Allura strengthen his bond with Pidge, whose feelings finally come to the forefront? What kind of beginnings will sprout from the Guardian's decrees?





	Growth: The Officer and the Oracle (A Post-Canon/Fix-It Fic)

**Author's Note:**

> I have not written fanfiction for a hot couple (several?) years. Bear with me. I can't believe that s8 drove me up so many walls that I crawled out of my hole to write something. Here are some important pre-reading notes.  
> (EDIT: Tumblr is a monster that likes to garble up my posts and not put them in the tags, so if you think others would be interested in reading this fic you can reblog/like the post here: http://terraaurea.tumblr.com/post/181577048711/growth-the-officer-and-the-oracle-a)
> 
> 1\. If you aren't familiar with mythology-terminology, an oracle is a medium that is able to receive messages from a deity. The ability can be a gift, but it can also be a curse.  
> 2\. This fic takes place about 4-5 months after the Lions leave, which was just over a year after Allura's sacrifice.  
> 3\. I'm labeling this as a "Fix-It Fic" for several reasons:  
> a. Lance will not remain a celibate supplicant to Allura for the rest of his life, and he is a multi-talented individual who can handle more than one career. He does canonically work on his family's farm, but you will see here that he does not dedicate his entire life to the Kalteneckers (not that it is bad that others do. Agriculture is hard, rewarding work, and his family rightfully excels in their business).  
> b. Lance does not become a full-Altean. Instead, Allura gave him the marks for practical purposes irrespective of their past relationship. Lance accepts these reasons, but is still embarrassed by the connotations that the marks carry (i.e. how they showcase to the whole world that he once loved Allura). Does he still love Allura? In a platonic way, yes. Romantically? I think he will easily find that love in someone else, especially when so much more rests on Lance as far as their relationship goes. The responsibilities he ends up with here--even if it isn't fair--put him in a position where falling too deeply into an obsessive love with Allura would be detrimental to far more people than himself. I think she knows this, and knows that if she can trust these instructions to anyone, it would be someone as dutiful, but wholesomely human, as Lance. Coran will also receive some of the same practical abilities. Do his marks change in appearance? Up to you.  
> c. Beyond leading the new "generation of Legendary Defenders" (what does that even mean?), Pidge and her family receive a little more depth to their post-canon research. CHIP also has a purpose other than to look pretty.  
> d. Hunk and Keith's futures are up to you and are open. I headcanon Hunk as being a diplomat working for the Galactic Coalition who happens to use his chef team to bring people together through food (essentially like it is shown pre-Epilogue cards). Does the Blade of Marmora eventually become a humanitarian organization? Whatever you want. What matters is that Keith is still heavily involved in BoM politics, and has turned down the role of Galra Emperor.  
> e. Shiro remains Captain of the Atlas, and retains his role as Admiral of the Galactic Coalition. Does he marry Curtis? Up to you. I personally headcanon Sheith, but I have left it open enough that you can see them as strictly platonic if you want.  
> f. Are the planets of Altea and Daibazaal truly back? Up to you. This story takes place entirely on Earth, and I do not mention either since it is not central to the plot.  
> g. One thing that may not appear completely "fix-it"-worthy is my treatment of Allura's death, though for me (and perhaps some of you) it may serve as closure at least. I do not condone the writing decision to kill her off in the way that they did in s8. It is far too vague, and any implication of her continued interaction with the universe is not fleshed out enough. The two seconds of the Lions flying to her shape in space? That isn't explicit enough, in my opinion. The s8 depiction as it is, to me, merely suggests that she is dead, and that her image is hardly more than an effigy. So: If this wonderful princess is going to leave the mortal world after losing her people, her planet, and her crown, she is going to ascend. She is going to be active in the protection of the universe. Voltron has pushed the theme of guardianship/tutelary deities and intergalactic powers that thrive on quintessence several times throughout the series (e.g. the White Lion, the Ancients of Oriande, Honerva's mind-guardians, Voltron, Bob). I see no reason why Allura could not completely knock that role out of the park.  
> 4\. For the gardeners who have read this far down, y'all are wonderful. Seriously, you're supportive and one of the highlights of this fandom. Keep watering, and keep being sweet.

An MFE revved in the distance as it landed, its turbines whirring as it topped off the trials for the day. It was a quiet end to a busy Friday evening at the Galaxy Garrison. Lance looked down from witnessing the landing to push up his sleeve and check his watch. Half an hour. He wrung his hands and checked again. Twenty-nine minutes. His palms were sweaty. He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. Twenty-eight, no, still twenty-nine minutes. The last time he was up for evaluation was when Iverson told him that he was promoted from cargo to fighter pilot, but only because Keith had gone AWOL. He remembered cheering and pumping his fist into the air as he left then. Why couldn't he garner such conviction now, after he had helped pilot Voltron, the savior of all known realities? Was it because he had met so many other amazing people over the years? Was this what Shiro meant when he warned him about Imposter's Syndrome? He was shocked that there was a more appealing term for 'crippling self-confidence issues.' It sounded like a cheesy villain name from some Film Noir. 

The Garrison probably offered this teaching position to Keith first, Lance thought. The Galra had joined the Galactic Coalition. Keith could manage the course while the Blade of Marmora’s next step was in the works. He, Lance, the one who nearly flunked years ago as a result of his failures rather than his choices, couldn’t have been their top candidate, could he? His mouth grew dry thinking about it. He tried to remind himself that he shouldn't condemn these kinds of frequent, forceful thoughts. Maybe the Garrison psychiatrist's advice was worth something. Maybe he would bring them some flowers from back home, even if the sessions were mandated by all Garrison employees who had seen combat and it was just their job.

Lance knew that he wanted to fly again once his family was settled comfortably outside of Nueva Havana. It took time to situate themselves, to rebuild networks after all Earth had suffered, but if anyone could make something out of nothing, it would be the McClains. Lance could only hit the skies again knowing that they were safe and thriving. Now, their property was filled to the brim with cattle—one of the first of its kind to restart in Cuba after the Galra devastation. Their fields were filled with all kinds of gorgeous foliage, both for the Kalteneckers (the rebranding made for many cute ceramic figurines at the hands of Lance’s nieces and nephews), and for exotic horticultural experiments. Colleen Holt sent them seeds by the pound almost weekly, because ‘by darn some of these plants should survive in native Earth climates, but maybe they need a tender loving hand to survive. Those ungrateful little sprouts don’t think the incubator is good enough for them!’ Regardless of how beautiful the landscape was, and how happy he was to spend time with his family again, Lance knew that he couldn’t stay rooted to the farm forever. The universe was massive, and he knew that he could make a big difference somewhere on this planet that he cherished and that he had missed so intensely while he was a paladin. He never expected, though, that the Garrison would actually invite him to teach beginner pilots. 

“Hold this for a sec.” He felt someone scooch next to him and shove a small stack of manila folders into his lap. Pidge dropped her briefcase to the ground and rummaged through it loudly. Pen-caps without pens and crumpled sticky-notes cascaded to the floor. No one should keep that many broken hairbands. 

“How’d your parents not name you Katie ‘Clutter’ Holt?” he mumbled before chuckling softly and pushing the bounty of folders into a neat tower. He covertly checked his watch. Twenty-seven minutes. 

“For the same reason that they didn’t name my brother Matt ‘Spidercracks Every Phone He Ever Owns’ Holt. Mom insisted on something either botanical or based on the founders of science. Dad knew better than to put up a fight. 'Clutter' Curie Holt doesn't sound that bad, though. A-ha.” Pidge pulled out a lint-roller, ripped off its casing, and started running it over Lance’s uniform. “Oh, also, Mom says ‘tell him I say good-luck, and make sure he looks proper. He can knock their socks off while wearing two that are the same color.’” 

“She really doesn’t have any faith in me, does she?” Lance chuckled again, pushing his eyebrows together in worry. He held back a sneeze and swatted at Pidge as she slid the lint-roller up and down his face a couple times. 

“She says the same stuff to my dad before all his meetings. Just means she cares. You should’ve heard what she said before my first piano recital.” Pidge gathered everything from the floor and shoved the nice stack of folders into her bag. “You ready to wreck the simulator?” Her voice was surprisingly soft, and she shrugged as she looked up at him. He had not wrecked the simulator once since he started practicing the week before. He spent several hours a day in the machine, waking up at dawn to leave the Holt’s and ride in to the base. Pidge’s family had kindly offered him a room while he finalized his paperwork with the Garrison, and he was thankful not to have to camp in a guest-cot at the dorms. ‘Paladin of Voltron’ qualifies you for a lot, but to be an instructor at the Garrison you need to pass the requisite performance exams. Sorry, I don’t make the rules, McClain—That's bureaucracy for you, Iverson had mused. 

“About as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” Twenty-six minutes. He began to ramble. “I know I shouldn’t be worried, but flying the Lions was more intuitive than anything and sometimes I wonder if I actually know how to fly—like it’s been so long since I’ve had to fly a plane-shaped-plane and all the buttons are similar but different—and I’m not exactly stoked about being watched like I never thought I had performance anxiety but sometimes I think I just don’t do well on tests you know—and you and I have only practiced the Crew Sim section a couple times—not that I think you would mess anything up you are the best engineer here and that makes me feel better but—" he halted as he felt Pidge’s hand on his shoulder, and he heard his voice echo fiercely down the empty hall. He felt his face flush and his lips go numb as he realized that he was shouting. She squeezed lightly. 

“I’m nervous, too. And I’m not even the one up for the job. But, you’re going to nail it. And then we’re going to order a pizza. Nobody will be home until tomorrow because Mom has her eyes on some spore-gunk trial and Dad and Matt are finishing up that Teludav presentation at the convention. I’m done looking at CHIP for the day.” Closing her eyes, she leaned back, stretched out her arms, and squeaked, “Finally, the TV is free!” 

Lance’s eyes lingered on her smile. His heart fluttered briefly, and he wiped his hands on his pants as his palms started sweating yet again. He savored this anxiety over the test-stress. Nowadays, these butterflies in his stomach turned over and over almost every time he talked with Pidge. Their daily texting and monthly gaming evenings reminded him of everything he had loved about their time at the Castle of Lions, but it was only over the past couple months that he had really let himself fully enjoy outings away from the farm without any underlying guilt. He had even recently convinced Pidge to walk him through her progress with CHIP. At first, she had brushed him off, saying it was a bunch of science-jargon that he wouldn’t understand and would get bored with anyway. She was right about that, but the science wasn’t why he wanted to listen. He wanted to see her go off on tangents for hours about how CHIP could do this but not that, and how Matt burned his ponytail off when he forgot to switch something-or-other on (or was it off?). Hearing her voice, seeing her messages, and watching her put her heart into the first Contra-Hyperquintessence-Inspector-Personnel made him happy. He and everyone else had the utmost faith in her creation. Someday, if rifts into the Quintessence Field ever opened again, CHIP would be the responder who could gather data, and remotely help the universe learn about the energy-source without fear of corruption. His exterior was a prototype, of course. Only twenty-something minutes until game-time. 

He returned his mind to a mantra. Remember to let yourself live. Remember to let yourself love. Because you need and are needed, he thought. Pidge said something he barely heard about taking a phone-call before the exam. Daydreaming, he recalled events of the past year and a half while repeating his mantra in his head. He let his thoughts flow nonjudgmentally and placed his hand over his watch so he would not be tempted to peak. He closed his eyes and breathed in, and out. 

The Lions left them just over a year after their final fight with Honerva. His outlet to the skies and the stars was gone, and his heart had sunk as he watched them zoom far, far away. It was bittersweet then when, a four months later, Shiro called him up for their weekly chat. 

“Don’t go around telling everyone yet, but according to our sources the Lions have been sighted en route to a quadrant that is uncharted because the instabilities in its quintessence-frame make it almost completely uninhabitable. Supposedly there are a few creatures that can stand it, but unlike the ones from the Quantum Abyss they’re only known in legends of peoples from the neighboring sectors. Coran thinks there is more to it, and Sam does too. The Lions might have an end-destination. I’ll keep you posted.” Lance was not surprised, because he already knew. 

On the night when the Lions shot up in a rainbow flurry, his newly acquired Altean marks glowed. The marks seemed to only have a single purpose until then. A physical examination after their return showed that he had not changed much, but when he accidentally opened a wormhole leaning on the dash in the bridge of the Atlas, he was out for two days. To this day he was secretly thankful for the brief coma--and guilty for being thankful--since he missed out on telling Coran that the light of his life was gone, and the subsequent forty-eight hours, after which Coran's stress-induced ‘Slipperies’ dried up, and Lance could be helpful in properly consoling him. Coran had run his thumbs over Lance’s marks, tears streaming down his face. He said that Alfor’s were that color. 

But, it was strange. Something about walking Lance through opening wormholes on the Atlas was healing for Coran. Shiro anxiously, though proudly, looked over them from behind while Coran remarked almost constantly how it took Allura years to master Teludav travel. It had to be a fluke that Lance was picking it up so quickly. Lance let him flaunt her skills postmortem, and promised to visit the Sam a couple of times so that he could take measurements on outputs and wavelengths and all that. He was relieved when his cooperation allowed Sam to make Teludav travel accessible without an Altean pilot.

As Blue’s eyes filled with bright, vivid light that night—the first time since the incident—Lance saw the sea-foam green glow from his marks spreading across his cheeks, and he heard something. More accurately, he felt something. Like when his Lions had ‘talked’ to him, someone was playing notes in his mind’s eye that he could understand, but he didn’t know how he could understand them. Once the Lions were completely out of sight and everyone gained the courage to smile at one another wistfully, promising to discuss it more the next morning, he rushed inside to try to put to words what he had received. He still pulls the notepad out occasionally to remind himself that it was all real. Eventually, he would reveal—first to Pidge, then to Hunk, then collectively to Shiro and Keith—that he had felt something, but not what exactly he had felt, or how detailed the encounter was. Their confusion proved it. They all experienced a sense of togetherness there at that moment, but nobody other than him had felt a presence. Something about his marks must have allowed it. He had no other explanation, because sometimes they would glow, and he would feel a similar warmth. These later moments were not like his first alchemic-oracular experience as much as they were like residual interference, though. He liked to describe it as Quintessence Radiochatter, and it kind of tickled. The term stuck.

In his booklet, he wrote that the presence implored him something like this, if the feelings can even fit into words at all: “This is a message for you, Lance. Do not tell anyone else, yet. They will know eventually. I will tell Coran when he is ready. He will tell them when they are ready. Right now you are the one who can handle this. You are the one who needs to hear this.” It felt faintly like juniberries. It felt thoroughly like warm but painful, tingling quintessence. It felt like Allura. 

He continued to jot down short lines, keeping it as accurate to the many overlapping messages as possible. They all happened so fast. If it were not for the years of practice in the Lions, this type of thing would have surely driven someone mad. He was sure that in the past, messages like this from intergalactic beings did in fact put people in psych-wards.

“Lance, I need you to do something for me. Existence needs a guardian. It has never had one. It has all been erased and renewed countless times. Our actions would have meant nothing if I did not stay.” Tears fell from his face and blurred the ink of many of the ledger lines. He continued to scribble rapid-fire. 

“I will do what I can to be the one Existence needs. But I cannot be what any one individual living person needs. I cannot be what you need. Others need you to be what they need. Please, Lance, move forward. I will always be with you, but I cannot always be there for you if you need me. I need you to be happy. You have already done so much with the wormhole ability I gave to you. I knew I would not be there to do it, so I trusted it to you. I may need a way to impart messages in the future should the fate of Existence be threatened ever again. I will bless many others with the Mark of the Chosen someday, but you are the first. I am so sorry to have forced this role on you. I have the Lions. You all may need to be paladins again someday, if you accept—but I want to keep them safe. They are like my children now. Do not wait for me, Lance. Do you understand? I hope you understand.” 

“Of course, Queen.” Lance had answered in his mind’s eye, as the wind died down and everyone stood in silence, flabbergasted by the departure of their Lions. The presence fizzled—as if she was giggling. She then felt grateful and dissipated almost as quickly as she had appeared. He is still pretty proud of that line. 

With a jolt Lance snapped back into focus. His pocket was buzzing quickly to a punctual rhythm. He pulled out his phone and saw a string of messages. Breaking into a jog down the hall, he tried to multitask and read them. How had he spaced out for fifteen whole minutes? 

Buzz. Shiro: “Show them what you’ve got, Lance!”  
Buzz. Hunk: “hey man, go get ‘em! tell me how it went! :)”  
Buzz. Luis: “Mama says buena suerte and call home when you finish”  
Buzz. Pidge: “Meet you there for the crew sim. Gotta run some things over to the AI lab quick. You got this sharpshooter <3.” 

Lance’s heart pounded as he got closer to the simulator hall, and he took a moment to catch his breath. He reopened each text, reading each one again carefully, smiling as he heaved. He pushed his bangs back with his hand and looked up at the ceiling. That’s new, he thought. Pidge had never sent him a heart emoji before. Before he could internalize whether it meant anything, or could ask Hunk 'for a friend,' Iverson poked his head out from the Sim 1 room and waved Lance in. 

***

The walk from Sim 1 to Iverson's office felt like Lance had just jumped off a treadmill. The walls bent inwards, and he couldn't help but mentally thank Krolia for torturing them all with perilous exercise drills. The upper-levels of the simulators had to be unlocked by individuals with clearance because of their difficulty and uncanny realism. 

“McClain, have a seat. Take a mint.” Iverson tossed a peppermint across the desk before reaching down into a drawer to grab a pen. Running the gamut of qualification exams had taken several hours, and Lance was exhausted. He sat silently and took the lozenge. Years ago, Lance would have laughed himself silly if you had told him that Commander M. Iverson would be here now, dealing him candy and straightening out a picture of Glenny the McClain Farm puppy, who he had adopted. It was love at first sight, if there was such a thing. “She’s getting so big. Sad to hear about her momma. I can’t help but think Glenny knows. I made sure to get her an extra rawhide just in case.” 

“Sometimes animals are just more attuned to these things. We buried her next to her favorite tree, and we gave her chicken up until the end.” Lance smiled sweetly and rubbed the bags under his eyes. Normally he would have jumped at the opportunity to celebrate the memory of a good dog, but all he could think about was the handful of people he had to call, pizza, and a warm blanket. Pidge had finger-gunned her way out of the cockpit after the Crew Sim exam, and she had been in the back of his mind since. It was a lot, and he just wanted to lie down. “So…” 

“That’s right. Paperwork. Here is a copy of your I-9. For now we’ll put down a provisional address until you get settled closer to the base. I’ll need you to do some initialing and signing. Let me know if any of the instructions don’t make sense. I know you understand that we’re backlogged in getting these positions back up and running, so pardon the old-fashioned copy. We’ll digitize it later.” Iverson slid a couple of pages across the desk and went back into his drawer for an ink-stamp. “Hope this thing hasn’t dried out.” 

Lance stared blankly at the form. It took a couple of seconds for the title “Employment Verification” to register in his head. His whole being felt like a fog, and he was completely spent. “Does this mean that I passed?” 

Iverson let out a boisterous laugh and smacked his hand down over the form a couple of times. He noticed that Lance was fiddling with the wrapper from before, so he tossed him another peppermint. “If a near-perfect score on the F1-4 exams means anything, it means that you didn’t just pass. You’re gonna be eligible for a pay-raise after a year, officer. Now, get to signing. I’m sure you want to get home and catch some shut-eye.” Lance did what he was told, but the gravity of the situation didn’t really sink in on account of the fatigue. Did this chair have wheels? It doesn't. Well, OK then, he thought. 

“Also, if you don’t mind me asking: have you heard from Kogane recently?” Iverson asked, sliding the completed forms into the copier behind his chair. Lance shook his head. That was partially a lie, since he and Keith texted intermittently every couple days. He figured that Iverson was wondering if Keith had mentioned anything business-related. He had not. 

“Keep this between us, McClain, but Captain Shirogane insisted we call him as a courtesy, just in case you turned down this opportunity. For the sake of reputation, you know. Extends a small olive-branch to an intermediary of the Galaxy Coalition and all that. I know he wouldn’t have accepted, but I was nervous when he didn’t respond because if you had turned down the position I would have really been in the hot-seat. There isn’t anyone else I would want to be in front of our first new year of rowdy kids. We only have a couple of senior instructors, but they’re so excited to meet you and show you the ropes." Iverson tossed his copies of the paperwork into a file cabinet, shut it loudly, and slid Lance's copy over to him. "Now, get outta here! We’ll call you in a couple days about orientation. We're not entirely sure were it's being held yet, but by God, it will be held somewhere.” 

It was late now, and the Garrison corridors were completely deserted. The air was thick and quiet, and through the freshly-cleaned hall windows Lance saw the spread of bright stars in the night sky. Being out in the middle of nowhere with so little light pollution and the shields down really made for a beautiful view. Pulling out his phone, he checked that Iverson was out of earshot. He whispered to himself, smiling so wide his eyes crinkled shut and his voice cracked, “I really was their top choice, huh?” 

Pidge texted that she was stationed out front with the Humvee. She joked that if he didn’t hurry, she would cloak it and he would have to walk like a mummy to find her, arms outstretched awkwardly as he palpated the air for an invisible death-machine. Move it or lose it. 

She thought she could outsmart a ninja. Adorable. 

Lance picked up the pace and spotted her in the driver’s seat, propped up on a couple cushions so that she could see over the dashboard. She was scrolling on her phone comfortably. Had he ever seen her so unaware? Also, who gave her permission to be so cute? This sneak-attack would be perfect. She wouldn’t ever see it coming. She was barely tall enough to see out of the rear-view window without turning completely around. By the ancients, it was pitch dark with the exception of the headlights and a few lines of runway reflectors. Easy. 

He skittered to the passenger-door, sliding behind trashcans and cargo-bins and sucking in his gut as he hid behind signage. The finish line was near, and he crouched with his hand over his mouth. Don’t laugh. Not yet. Wait for it. 

He slowly reached up for the handle. He froze with a jolt as he heard the window skid down. 

“You’re cute. Get in.” Pidge leaned out of the passenger window almost to the point of falling right out and shoved her phone in his face. It showed three or four surveillance streams, including a closeup of them. She took a screenshot and crawled back in to the driver’s side. “I should frame this. Would that be illegal? Who cares, I’m framing it.” 

Lance howled with laughter and continued to laugh as she drove them off the lot. Her giggling and a snort only made him double over. Under his gasping breath and a couple hiccups he made his case: if he hadn't just clocked so many flight hours on the simulators' highest settings, he would have totally remembered that years ago she had already hacked into every bonafide government-monitored camera within a twenty mile radius, at only fourteen years old. 

As his throat grew hoarse, he coughed, and said with fitful chuckling, “Hey—Hey, so apparently they called me about this thing before Keith. Wild, right?” Pidge smiled out of one side of her mouth, cheekily. 

“You thought they’d call Keith first? He’d hate speaking up in front of kids all day. Kids are assholes and he’s a real softy.” She lifted an eyebrow and shifted gears, flooring it before rolling down her window. The stretch of desert buffering the base was shrinking with the growth of the surrounding Garrison-sponsored suburbs, but there were still a couple miles of unabated, dusty road ahead. 

“Even if he didn’t, he knows you’d smoke him as a teacher. Calling you up was a no-brainer!” She yelled over the gusts of wind and pebbles popping under the hard tires. Lance ran his hand down his face and rubbed his eyes before rolling down his window and sticking his head out just enough to feel the wind on his face. He also had to shout over the roaring gales. 

“…You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Watch out, cadets—you can call me Officer McClain!” As they hit a bump, floating for a couple of seconds in the air, Pidge yelped and subsequently spiraled into laughter. Conversely, mid-holler, Lance’s heart dropped. 

At first the refraction of the headlights on the dark road ahead obscured it, but once he felt that warmth in his chest, he thought to hold a hand to the front of his face. Glowing. He scoffed before rolling the window up quickly and whipping out the copy of his employment forms. A couple seconds passed, and as Pidge closed her own window she glanced over to see him flipping them over and diving nose-deep into the paper to write. 

“You OK over there?” she asked, her smile fading. 

Lance quickly shushed her, but immediately covered his rude knee-jerk reaction with a weak “Sorry—Sorry, just a sec. I gotta write this down before I forget. It’s important.” 

Pidge nodded and slowed the vehicle, looking up at the road and staring hard, trying to hide the concern on her face. She was working on it, but she still got a bit of a sour feeling whenever his marks glowed. She refused to resent Allura for anything, and always tried to table her jealously as quickly as she could whenever they reminded her of the princess. Her heart was always on her sleeve, and while she knew she couldn't help that, she was determined to try. She mentally noted that she had never seen Lance’s marks this bright since the night the Lions left, though.

Lance finished writing and stowed the folder of documents away. He sighed deeply, leaning against the door and covering his mouth with a hand. Tears came to his eyes, and he bit the knuckle of his forefinger lightly. 

“A little more than Radiochatter?” 

He nodded. 

“You wanna talk about it?” 

He hesitated, but slowly nodded again. His eyes darted back and forth a couple of times as he straightened up in his seat and let out a deep breath. His voice cracked again. “Coran is going to—let’s just say he’s going to lose it for a little while. He’s going to have a couple things to say about the Lions. Or a lot of things. I missed that part. Keep an eye out for that. Just wait for it. We're lucky we got to say goodbye. He didn't. ”

“Okay?” Pidge lingered on the last syllable and pursed her eyebrows. She pulled into the outer streets of the residential area and slowed even more. “Will do.”

There was silence for a minute before Lance spoke up again. The florescent twinkling of streetlamps bounced across the windows, and he looked up at the stars, which were so much fainter here under the dim urban lights. 

“Also...I didn’t know." Lance chuckled and wiped the tears from his eyes. "I didn’t get to thank you.” 

"Huh?" 

“You really bartered Kill-bot Phantasm XXVI so that Allura would be happy?” 

Pidge’s eyes widened, and it felt as though her breath was vacuumed sheerly from her lungs. 

“You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” Lance tilted his head to look out of the side-window, smiling warmly. His eyes were not sad. Instead, they expressed relief. They were wet with tears that kept flowing despite his efforts to dry them with his stiff uniform sleeves. 

Pidge gripped the steering wheel tightly and made herself as small as possible while still being able to see out onto the road. Her left leg bounced up and down quickly, and only her tip-toes were able to reach the floor of the massive armored car. It was becoming difficult not to accidentally hit the clutch with her foot. 

“I—I thought it was the right thing to do.” 

“Pidge. Pi—”

“It’s not a big deal, really—” 

“Pidge,” he interrupted quietly, pointing backwards, “you passed your house.” 

After a soft ‘Quiznak’ and a u-turn they arrived in the driveway. Pidge slid out of the driver’s seat and immediately pulled her briefcase to her core. She slouched her shoulders forward and looked straight to the ground as she waited for Lance to come around. A muted buzzing came from her bag and his pocket, and they took out their phones at the same time, hearts pounding at the sounds. 

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. CCTGM (Coran Coran the Gorgeous Man): “URGENT. See marked time. If you cannot attend in person or through broadcast, report ASAP. You will not BELIEVE this.” 

Lance sent an affirmative and switched his phone to silent, knowing that a deluge of messages would be coming in within the next few minutes. Pidge did the same, but slid hers back into her bag, where it began rustling incessantly. She opened her mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again as she lost her words. 

Lance crouched a little and extended a hand, as if approaching a stray cat who could dart away at any moment. He slid the strap of her briefcase off her shoulder and set it on the ground gently before pulling her into a deep hug. 

She collapsed into him, burying her head into his chest before wrapping her arms around his back and squeezing him as firmly as she could. He pulled her in equally close and held her, fingers tangled in her thick hair as he rested his chin against the top of her head. Pidge wasn’t crying more than a couple tears, but she shook. 

Lance was so warm, so enveloping. They had hugged so many times, but this felt more powerful than ever before. She wanted to feel herself sink into him until she stopped existing. After what felt like several minutes, she pulled back just enough to push her forehead against his sternum, not wanting to disconnect from him completely. She grabbed either side of his jacket in her hands, balling the fabric up in her fists. 

“I’m sure this isn’t the right time to say this but—I mean I know this isn’t the right time but—” the phone buzzed another handful of times and then halted. Pidge huffed heavily and squeezed her fists tighter, digging her fingernails into her palms. 

“—but I’ve liked you for a long time now, you know. I mean, I really like you. Like, a lot.” She loosened the grip of one hand and fiddled a button between her thumb and forefingers. She was otherwise unmoving. 

“I don’t want you to think—you know I’m not good at hiding how I feel about things…I just don’t want you to think that it’s your fault if I act a little weird while I try to get over this. I don’t know why I can’t hold it back now when I could before. I don’t know.” She tugged on the jacket and sighed shakily. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we aren’t out risking our lives in space. Maybe it’s because I miss her, and maybe it’s because I know you miss her.” 

Pidge turned her head to look toward the garage door, while still being able to feel Lance’s heartbeat against her cheek. Her face was hot and flushed. “Just forget I said anything. I’m making it weird.” Her throat tightened, and she grew rigid as Lance readjusted his hand in her hair. She couldn’t see that he was smiling from ear-to-ear. 

“Pidge, I like you, too. A lot.” He moved his hand to her cheek without moving her head, wanting to feel her more while understanding that looking into her eyes might be a little too much for her at that moment. She could do it if and when she was ready. 

“And, for a while…it isn’t a just-now thing. It’s something I’ve thought about for months. But, I’ve been afraid of it.” His embrace became tighter overall. “I’m happy when I’m with you, and I miss you when we’re apart. I get so nervous before we meet up. Every time.” 

Pidge could feel her hand falling asleep as it was squeezed tight between their chests, but she kept fiddling with the button regardless. Her eyes softened and closed. 

“You’re so smart—I was afraid you’d notice. I was so afraid you’d think I was being creepy if you knew how I started feeling, because of everything that happened. I can’t help it that my face lights up sometimes. It just happens. It’s kind of embarrassing. I can tell everyone about that a little more tomorrow." Pidge stopped fidgeting with his button, and Lance felt her unclench her other hand, open and close it a couple times, and slide it to rest on his back. 

"My Marks of the Chosen, they—I can’t make them do that, even if I try. But there are things I do have control over, if I ease off the brake. I’m ready to stop holding myself back.” 

They stood in silence until Pidge’s phone, after the interlude, began vibrating again. Lance’s lit up concurrently in his pocket. A long breath that she had been holding for too long hissed, Pidge finally detached herself. 

“Well, I think it’s…worth a shot then?” she said, looking up sheepishly. Her eyes were still fleeting, but it was obvious that she was making an active effort to lock eyes with him. “We should probably go inside. Order that pizza? Celebrate your new job and…this? Maybe?” She placed her hand on his bicep awkwardly and circled her thumb, not quite sure how to transition. “I think Matt might get a little whiny about it all, if you're prepared for that.” 

“That sounds perfect—all of it.” Lance chuckled, covering her hand with one of his own before cupping her face with the other. He ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping one of the tears that had started to dry, and committed every second of their unbroken gaze to memory. 

Nearly forty texts had popped up over the past five minutes. The meeting about Coran’s own prophetic experience wasn’t until the next morning, but he spilled the beans immediately to the Paladins (and ex-Paladins) alone. Lance eventually made his way down to the ‘Congratulations’ texts from earlier, after many short messages from Coran and the others. While they were all in an uproar, he wrapped himself in a blanket, content and comfortable in his pajamas while Pidge went to take a shower before the delivery got there. 

Shiro: “Allura is a WHAT?”  
Hunk: “pidge? lance? you copy? this stuff is nuts! the lions can be like her own personal angels now, how cool is that?!”  
Coran: “Lance, sorry to send you an individual text during all of this, but did you experience one of these messages too? Is it just me? Am I missing anything? You do not have to answer now.”  
Keith: “I have a lot of questions but I’ll wait until tomorrow.”  
Hunk: “a guardian or goddess of what now? i’m confused.”  
Keith: “Hey man. Congrats. You doing alright with this news about Allura? If you want to chat I’ll be there tomorrow. Hmu if you want to.” 

Lance stretched, releasing some anxious energy that began to build as his friends learned what he had long ago, on the night of the Lion’s departure. Though he felt guilty for not having been able to tell them before, he trusted the new Guardian of Existence. Guardian of Realities? Of Transrealities? A name could probably wait. 

He took one from Keith’s playbook, and settled with the idea that Allura would tell them when she, and they, were ready. Something about her being practically omniscient convinced him that she could easily find a good title for herself, and that it would be fit for nothing less than a queen.


End file.
